Blackrazor
by Jontg
Summary: Bonedevil is back, at the head of an unstoppable army from beyond mortal comprehension, and his trademark weapon is more lethal than ever! Hell is no problem for Clan Darkstar... but can they handle it when all the Far Realm breaks loose?
1. Forgotten Relic

Yes, I'm back! After an agonizing three minutes! This, ladies and gentlemen, is _Blackrazor_, the sequel to _Bonedevil_. It's basically a massive crossover between every D&D setting in existance, with a healthy dollop of H.P. Lovecraft thrown in--enjoy!

Disclaimer:_ Dungeons & Dragons,_ the _Living Greyhawk_, _Forgotten Realms_, and _Eberron_ campaign settings, and all spells, items, persons, and locales depicted therein are © 2001-2004 by Wizards of the Coast and Hasbro, inc. Azathoth, Cthulhu, and all related abominations are © 1920s and onward by H.P. Lovecraft and others. All other persons depicted in this work are my original creations, as are all events depicted in this work. This novella is a work of fiction. Any similarity with actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

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**Forgotten Relic**

6694 CY

Jonathanas Darkstar had won.

Less than five minutes ago, he had slain the one who had massacred his family, the monster who had murdered his wife and son: the dark warrior known only as Bonedevil.

Now, the elven warrior-mage stood at the rim of White Plume Mountain, holding Bonedevil's weapon--the sword called Blackrazor. This vile blade had destroyed all he knew and loved, devouring their souls and consigning them to oblivion. With its creator and wielder dead, the black soul-eater had gone dormant--and Jonathanas meant to ensure that it stayed that way.

As he held the evil artifact over the bubbling pit of lava, his thoughts drifted to the last moments of his battle against Bonedevil. The mad hobgoblin had come within seconds of slaying Darkstar, but one impossible dodge by Jonathanas had allowed him to deliver the final blow.

But even as he lay dying, cut in half at the waist and coughing up blood, the deranged sorcerer had still lashed out verbally at Jonathanas, claiming to have forced himself on Roselenna. Jonathanas had stabbed him in the heart, but Bonedevil still taunted him, only ceasing when Darkstar had hacked him to pieces.

Jonathanas tore his mind from the scene, the crazed laughter of Bonedevil still echoing in his ears. The monster was dead now--he lay in the crater where Castle Greyhawk had stood, reduced to a bloody pulp by Jonathanas's fury.

The sword, however, posed a completely different problem--Blackrazor was an artifact, and could only be destroyed by one method, chosen by Bonedevil at the time of its creation. Without that secret, Jonathanas could not even scratch the vile sword--but he could imprison it.

Before Bonedevil had recreated it, Blackrazor had been a minor magic item. A band of heroes had destroyed the original Blackrazor thousands of years ago, by dropping it into this very volcano. Now, it would serve as a fitting prison for the resurrected abomination.

Jonathanas dropped the blade into the roiling magma. As the sword fell below the surface, the molten rock darkened and cooled, the energy draining into the artifact. In moments, the entire volcano was rendered dormant, locking Blackrazor in a tomb of obsidian almost a mile thick.

When the last wisps of steam had finally dissipated in the air, Jonathanas turned away from the crater, threw back his head, and screamed.

All the pain, rage, and loss he had suffered in the last week channeled itself into a shriek of pure, primal agony. All the magical energy he possessed was discharged in a column of brilliant, white light that encircled his body and shot skyward, illuminating the entire continent with a horrible, blinding glow. Huge storm clouds appeared from a clear night sky, and rained torrents of acid down on anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside. Thunder boomed, and huge, jagged bolts of lightning lanced down, incinerating anything that could burn. The colossal storm raged on, becoming more fearsome with every passing minute. Titanic waves swept entire cities out to sea. Vast tornadoes drew in anything that was not bolted down, and much that was. Great fissures opened in the ground, and gouts of flame issued forth. Nothing and no one was safe--entire nations were obliterated by the fury of Jonathanas Darkstar.

Finally, the storm died down. Jonathanas lowered his head, and looked into the pool of volcanic glass.

His clothes were tattered, and covered in glowing blood. His sword was rusted in two places, where he had deflected bolts of negative energy fired from Blackrazor. He himself was mostly unharmed, except for a cut across the inside of each knee. But it was none of these that made him stare at his reflection in horror--his eyes were utterly black, as dark as the void between stars.

Shrugging, Jonathanas turned away from the black mirror. He would first collect Roselenna's body, and give her a decent burial, then depart for his own final resting place. Now, however, he needed to rest--only at his full power could he hope to survive in the Far Realm.


	2. Hidden Evil

**Hidden Evil**

7482 CY

Rakka Orebrand shouldered his pickaxe and mopped his pale brow with one hand.

The derro miner had led his company halfway across the Flanaess in search of metal, and had finally hit on a vein of strange, violet ore. His team's alchemist had verified that the substance was inherently magical, and harder than anything yet discovered--the very molecular structure appeared frozen, as though all traces of energy had been drained from the metal. In any other circumstances, the alchemist had said there would be no way to mine it--but the surrounding rock was fragile obsidian, and the miners simply splintered the volcanic glass and broke off the thin veins of ore with massive warhammers.

Rakka tapped the stone with his knuckles, and winced as a ridge of obsidian cut his hand. Despite the distracting pain, he could tell that he was deep underground--derro were only part dwarf, but they still possessed an affinity for metal and stone. As his crew had been traveling in a straight line, this would indicate that they were now below some tall structure, most likely a mountain. He shrugged--the surface concerned him only in that its denizens often ventured down into derro territory to loot and kill.

The miner licked the blood from his cut hand--and stopped suddenly as he tasted the blood. It did not taste of obsidian--it carried the tang of steel. Rakka tapped the tiny ridge again--avoiding the razor-sharp edge--and was amazed to discover that the object was solid, worked metal!

"Korak!" he called, "get over here--there's a blade stuck in here!"

"What!" A tall, muscular derro lumbered up, carrying a huge mithral pick over one shoulder. "Are you goin' batty on us? We're under a mountain, for Diirinka's sake! What would a blade be doin' down here?"

"I dunno, but there's one right here!" Rakka pointed to the bit of metal protruding from the stone.

"That thing?" Korak laughed. "That's just a bit o' glass! Gods, Rakka, you get one little cut and go raving about swords in the rock? You're goin' stir-crazy!"

"What do I look like--some sissy elf? I tell ya, it's a blade! I tasted it, and it's solid steel!"

Korak scraped a finger over the ridge, and licked it carefully. "Hey, you're right--it's worked steel!"

"See? I told you! Hey, guys, get over here--there's a sword stuck in the rock!"

Several other derro ran up with picks, and set to work, carefully extracting the blade from the surrounding obsidian.

After about an hour, the blade was almost completely free from the volcanic glass--only the pommel remained embedded. Rakka stepped forward, and set his hand on the hilt.

_Hello, Rakka._

The miner jumped, but his hand never left the handle of the black sword. "What in Diirinka's name--!"

_Hello, Rakka,_ the voice repeated. _Thank you for rescuing me from my tomb!_

"What are you?" Rakka asked the voice.

_It's me--the sword you hold. Set me free,_ it urged,_ and I will tell you of myself!_

Rakka tugged on the blade, and the last bit of obsidian splintered away. The sword now rested comfortably in the derro's hands, the hilt slowly shaping itself to his thick-fingered grip. Rakka wasn't that surprised--the blade had already shown its magical nature, and most magic items would resize themselves for a new wearer.

_Now I am yours,_ the weapon purred. _Come, we must leave quickly!_

"Wha--" Rakka began to object--then he felt the temperature rising.

_This is a volcano--my powers were all that kept it dormant! We must flee, or we are lost!_

"Run!" Rakka screamed. "This place is going to explode!"

The other miners immediately turned and ran, followed immediately by Rakka--who was in turn followed by a massive wave of lava. Rakka gave himself up for lost, but the sword pulsed in his hand, and a bolt of black energy leapt from the blade, freezing the magma instantly.

_Hurry, master--the lava will not remain solid for long!_

Rather than ask further questions, the terrified miner simply ran.

Finally, the heat lessened, and the company stopped to rest.

Korak strode towards Rakka. "Now that we're out of trouble, I think we'd all like to know just what's going on here." The muscular dwarf's stance made it clear that he would not stand for silence on his comrade's part. "First off, who were you talkin' to back there in the tunnel?"

"The sword," Rakka replied. "It's magic, and it says I'm its new master."

"Uh-huh." Korak showed no outward signs of emotion, but one eyebrow arched up until it nearly joined with his bushy hair.

"Look, I'm not crazy--here, I'll show ya!" Rakka made to hand Korak the blade, but it let out a telepathic screech of protest. _Master, he must not know of my powers!_

"But he thinks I'm crazy," Rakka protested.

_It matters not--none can know!_

"Oh, all right," he grumbled, turning his gaze back to Rakka. "Sorry, I can't show it to you."

"I thought so." Korak's hand moved slowly towards the haft of his pickaxe--

--and fell to the ground, severed cleanly from the wrist.

Rakka struck again, stabbing Korak through the neck. The muscular derro crumpled to the tunnel floor. His killer whirled his sword above his head. "Anyone who makes a move on me dies."

The other miners moved away immediately.

_Thank goodness!_ sighed the sword. _Now, I believe I have not fully identified myself--I am called Blackrazor, the Eater of Souls._

"Eater of Souls, eh?" Rakka spat in the stone. "We'll see about that."

_Very well--enjoy._

Suddenly, Rakka felt a surge of power course through his body. The cut on his hand healed, and he felt stronger and faster than ever before.

_I drain the life force of living creatures and channel it to my master--the more you kill, the stronger and faster you will become!_

"Hmm… a pretty useful power--how'd such a fine blade end up at the bottom of a volcano?" Engrossed in his conversation with Blackrazor, Rakka did not notice his former comrades drawing their weapons and preparing to charge.

_Master, look out! _

Rakka whirled around just in time to parry a strike from a huge warhammer. His first opponent was slashed across the throat, and Rakka felt another surge of power. He rushed the seven remaining derro, killing three in the first instant of combat. The last four kept their distance, not daring to come within range of the lethal blade. Rakka slowly advanced, Blackrazor's energies making him a living whirlwind of steel.

Finally, the largest of the miners charged his former leader, intending to crush him with a single blow of his massive hammer. Rakka slashed him across the stomach, then lopped off his head before the dwarf even hit the ground.

The others threw down their weapons and ran as they had never run before--but Rakka was faster. His speed enhanced to rival that of thought itself, Rakka mowed them down in a single second.

As the last of his former comrades fell in a haze of blood, Rakka again heard Blackrazor in his mind. _Well, what do you think of my power?_

"You're quite a piece o' work--I didn't even feel any resistance when I killed 'em!"

_Already, I am powerful enough to cut through flesh without slowing a fraction--but I could be stronger still!_

"How?"

_The source of my power is hidden beneath the Wall of Black Glass._

Rakka nearly laughed out loud. The Wall of Black Glass was just that--a huge sheet of obsidian that thrust out of the ground about five miles north of Greyhawk Crater. Rakka had heard tales of it, and there was no way the edifice described to him could contain anything--the Wall was approximately fifty feet to a side, but less than an inch thick.

_Do not take me lightly--I am the key that unlocks the Wall's secrets!_

Rakka considered this. If the blade was lying--which it did not seem to have any good reason to--then he would be wasting time traveling to the Wall. But if it was telling the truth--which was definitely in its best interests--then he would be throwing away the greatest opportunity of his three hundred year life. With Blackrazor as it was, he could rule his people--with Blackrazor at its full power, he could rule the world.

"All right--let's go."

Blackrazor led Rakka through the maze of tunnels for many weeks, only letting him stop to eat. Eventually, they reached the surface, where they journeyed for yet another month. At the end of this time, Rakka finally reached the Wall of Black Glass.

Squinting in the abominably bright light of the flaming sphere known as the Sun, Rakka looked up at the huge structure. The Wall of Black Glass was exactly as he had heard it described--a vast plane of obsidian, exactly fifty feet on a side, and not even thick enough to be opaque.

_Now, Master,_ instructed Blackrazor, _plunge me into the Wall!_

Rakka stabbed the blade into the face of the Wall.

Nothing happened.

The derro was just about to retrieve the weapon when the Wall shuddered. It began to part, the smoky glass grinding against itself with a loud shriek that set Rakka's teeth on edge. In moments, a shimmering portal surfaced from within the Wall.

_There it is, Master--the path to your destiny!_

Rakka walked through the portal without hesitation--after all, Blackrazor made him invincible.


	3. Death, Darkness, and Destruction

**Death, Darkness, and Destruction**

Seconds after Rakka came out the other end, a huge, fat monster flopped out from an alcove to his left.

The derro drew Blackrazor again, slashing open the creature's immense belly. The injury seemed not to even affect the thing, and Rakka was forced to retreat before the beast's surprisingly fast advance.

_A famine spirit_, warned Blackrazor. _An undying monster of terrible power--be careful, Master!_

Rakka drew all of the power left in the sword into himself, becoming so fast he was nearly invisible. He charged the famine spirit, turning the thing's flesh into a web of oozing cuts, but it didn't seem to notice--it hit him with a flabby arm and sent him sprawling. The monstrous creature loomed over him, its chins doubling in number as the beast's jaws distended to swallow him whole. The derro lashed out frantically, lopping off the zombie's lower jaw. The undead stumbled back, going defensive. Rakka pounced, shredding the obese monstrosity before it could even register that he had moved.

Rakka sheathed Blackrazor, and walked on. "I thought you said that thing had terrible power."

_To any other, yes--but we killed it before it could even show its abilities!_

"'We?'"

You_, Master,_ purred the sword. _Only you._

"That's better."

_Now, come--I shall guide you to the source of my power!_

Blackrazor seemed to pull Rakka down the tunnel, leading him to a fork in the passageway.

_Go left, Master--the right passageway leads to a lake of acid filled with Anarchic piranhas._

"How do you know this place so well, anyway?"

_I was created here--this is the tomb of the sorcerer who crafted me!_

"Well, as long as you remember your loyalties..." Rakka walked down the tunnel, carefully watching every nook and cranny for a sign of life. Fortunately, he saw none.

At the end of the tunnel, he came to another fork. As he drew Blackrazor to ascertain the proper direction, he heard something--a faint, sibilant whisper, like a shroud trailing across the floor of a tomb. Rakka slowly turned around, and saw a huge, black creature slither out of the tunnel he had just exited. It resembled a great spider, but instead of segmented legs, rubbery black tentacles extended from its body. Like everything else in the cavern, it was wreathed in shadow--but unlike anything else, the beast seemed to be literally _part_ of the darkness, and the shadowy threads looked almost solid.

_A darkweaver--not as powerful as the famine spirit, but nonetheless incredibly strong._

Rakka spat at the monster, and readied Blackrazor for another lightning-fast attack series.

The darkweaver simply sat in the darkness, like a spider in the center of its web.

Several moments passed, with neither side daring to move. Finally, Rakka gave a shout and ran at the darkweaver at near-sonic speed.

The monster struck even faster.

Three black tentacles whipped out and snared the dwarf. Rakka sliced through them instantly, but the dark limbs hug on doggedly, spreading a supernatural chill through Rakka's body.

_The tentacles drain strength, Master,_ wailed Blackrazor. _Avoid them if you desire life!_

"How'd it touch me in the first place!" yelled Rakka as he barely blocked another tentacle lash.

_It must have a haste power of its own,_ the blade moaned. _This is no ordinary monster--such speed and prowess can only be achieved by a Paragon!_

Rakka's blood ran cold--a Paragon was the strongest, fastest, toughest, smartest, and deadliest representative of an entire species, the product of centuries of selective breeding and magical enhancement. A Paragon housecat could decimate armies--a Paragon demon could level continents.

He launched into a series of lightning-swift strikes, each cut drawing a squeal of pain from the monster. Rakka turned to speed away for another charge attack--and couldn't move.

_Once you enter the darkweaver's web of shadows, the only way out is the death of one or the other._

Rakka charged again, moving towards the creature with ease--evidently, the web only prevented egress. The darkweaver lashed out with all of its tentacles, grabbing the derro firmly--but Rakka willed Blackrazor to act on its own, and the sword withered the rubbery limbs with a bolt of black energy. The darkweaver squealed in agony and threw its prey away from it--and out of the shadow web.

Rakka screamed in triumph and rushed the spidery beast, calling on every last spark of power remaining in Blackrazor. His speed boosted to hypersonic levels, the dwarven warrior smashed into and through the darkweaver, punching a hole through the web of dark strands and embedding Blackrazor in the opposite wall. The darkweaver collapsed in on itself, dissipating into a mass of inky fluid.

Rakka didn't even turn around to make sure the creature was truly dead--he simply collapsed. For several minutes, he simply lay on the ground, gasping for air from the sheer exertion that Blackrazor demanded. The blade indeed elevated his speed, but it did not reduce the energy required to move at such speed--and he had certainly overexerted himself fighting this creature. The fact that the blade did not compensate for the extra drain made him wonder about its usefulness--only a being that was incapable of fatigue could derive the maximum benefit from the blade.

Eventually, he got to his feet and brushed himself off. Blackrazor was still stuck in the wall, and it had begun to emit a strange noise. Rakka pulled it out, and listened to the sound--the blade seemed to be gibbering to itself, as though some nearby presence agitated it considerably. He shook the blade hard, but the gibbering only increased. "What'n the Nine Hells is wrong with you!"

_Hurry, Master--we are close to my power source!_

Rakka held out the sword, which tugged him down a large tunnel directly in front of him. He broke into a run, sprinting down the tunnel at top speed--which was not much, given his dwarven ancestry--until he came to the end.

He stood before a huge door, crafted of obsidian. He strode towards it, but the black glass suddenly oozed blood, forming a red film over the obsidian slab. The skeletons framing the door came apart, reconfiguring themselves into a matrix of bone that extended over the door, locking it securely. One of the skulls became the center of the network of bones, and the other hovered in the air before Rakka.

"Welcome, brave warrior," the skull intoned. "On behalf of my master, I congratulate you on completing the tests of skill. You have earned your reward."

"Yeah, whatever," Rakka snarled. "Just open up."

"Place Blackrazor in the mouth of the second skull."

Rakka ran to the door and jammed the sword into the mouth of the skull. All was still for a moment, but then a tiny crack appeared, just above Blackrazor's hilt. The obsidian door shattered into thousands of tiny fragments, and Rakka strode through the entrance.

He had entered a small room, sparsely furnished and lined with bookshelves and cupboards. A tall mirror stood in a corner, and there was a desk directly opposite from the entrance. A battered suit of black, spiked plate armor set with bits of splintered bone stood beside the desk, and a sword rack hung directly above it.

Rakka started forward--

--and the armor moved.

As the armor walked out of the shadows, Rakka could see a skeleton inside it. Two pinpoints of red fire blazed in its eye sockets, and the monstrosity let out a shriek of mirth at Rakka's horrified expression.

"Hello, little half-breed--I see you have finally returned Blackrazor to me."

Rakka held the sword in question in a guard stance, keeping the black blade between himself and this new creature. "What in Diirinka's name are you?" he whispered.

The armored cadaver stopped, and its eyes dimmed for an instant. "You do not know who I am? After all the destruction I caused, am I not recognized on sight?"

"I dunno who or what ye are, but if you don't get outta my way, I'm gonna cut you in two!"

"What? Why so eager to attack me?" The skeleton's eyes flickered in what seemed to be astonishment mixed with amusement. "Could it be that you truly do not know who I am? Very well--allow me to enlighten you." The corpse snapped its fingers, and suddenly seemed to change. The dusty armor shone like new. The bones set in the metal grew and regenerated until the armor appeared inlaid with ivory. The dents and holes mended, and the spikes gleamed wickedly. The skeleton within changed, also--yellowed bones were polished to ivory whiteness in the span of an instant, and the flames in its eyes shone like portals to a dimension of ultimate evil.

"Long ago, I was known as Grunthark," hissed the rejuvenated creature, "but most people call me Bonedevil."

Rakka screamed in stark terror.

He tried desperately to attack, to defend, to do anything that would stop this horror--but he had been doomed from the moment he had set foot within the inner sanctum of the most powerful being on the planet.

Bonedevil blurred into action, dashing up to Rakka and snatching Blackrazor from his grasp. The evil artifact screamed in ecstasy as it felt the touch of its master for the first time in more than a thousand years. Bonedevil's will ignited the full power of the sword, and it responded in kind, becoming one with its master as they had been before his death.

As Rakka watched in horror, Bonedevil slowly regained life. Sinew and flesh stretched over bone, and the armor fell away, letting Rakka watch Bonedevil's entire upper torso grow new skin--except for his left arm, which remained as it had always been, an undead prosthetic. His skin turned red, and spikes grew from his shoulders--courtesy of his demonic skin grafts. The gleaming skull slowly fleshed out until it became that of a hobgoblin, then lost its hair and took on a demonic cast.

Bonedevil threw back his head and howled in triumph--after centuries of waiting, he had at last regained his former power.

Rakka finally gathered enough of his wits to break free of his horrified fascination, and ran for the exit. Faster than the eye could follow, the ex-hobgoblin turned around and fired a bolt of negative energy from Blackrazor, withering Rakka into little more than a skeleton. As the emaciated creature tried frantically to crawl away, Bonedevil leapt in front of him and held his sword above the derro's head.

"One last lesson, little vermin," Bonedevil whispered. "Never talk to strange swords."

The blade fell.

---

A few clarifications here. Firstly, the Wall of Black Glass is the physical manifestation of the portal Bonedevil uses to enter and exit his private demiplane. Secondly, no--Blackrazor has not always been able to do that. More on that later.

And yes, this part of the fic is essentially LOTR gone horribly, horribly wrong. evilgrin


	4. While You Slumbered

And finally, here it is--the entire history of the Darkstar clan, and the revelation of the secret mentioned in _Bonedevil_.

---

**While You Slumbered...**

7539 CY

Rishas Darkstar sighed as he got up from his desk. As a moon elf, hailing from the parallel world of Abeir-Toril, Rishas preferred wandering through the forests of his family's demiplane to managing the thousands of warriors, priests, spies, and mages that comprised the Darkstar clan's active roster--still, it was an important job, and his duty as the Patriarch of the clan.

But it was not an easy one--the Darkstar clan extended over the entire multiverse, and even into other Prime Material planes. It counted at least one of every type of sentient creature among its numbers, regardless of alignment--although demons rarely got along with celestials, they worked together for a common cause.

This disregard of moral and ethical outlooks--based on the precedent set by Jonathanas Darkstar II, who had befriended a Vrock demon named Rhunad during his long adventuring career--had caused many to question the true nature of the Darkstar clan. If they accepted demons into their ranks, said their detractors, how could they possibly be a force for Good?

Many Darkstars, upon hearing that accusation, would shoo the speaker away while desperately stifling gales of laughter. The Darkstar clan was far more than another order dedicated to Good--there were already more "secret" societies and militias than the champions of Good knew what to do with.

_No_, thought Rishas, _this organization serves a far greater cause than keeping the universe free of Evil._ Granted, the mere mention of the clan's name was enough to make just about any villain seriously consider an alignment change--but the thing powerful enough to make angels and fiends ally against it would make said villain consider suicide.

The Darkstar clan had been founded several thousand years ago, by an elf called Jonathanas Darkstar. Jonathanas had been just another copper-a-dozen adventuring mage--orphaned at three months by a dragon attack, raised by faeries, and now traveling the world with the standard array of warrior, priest, and rogue. But something had happened that had transformed this unassuming young elf into a champion of reality itself.

Rishas chuckled to himself as he pondered the irony of the event. Any village with a Darkstar cleric stationed in it knew to come to them when a loved one fell ill--and yet it had been just such an ailment that created the clan in the first place.

Jonathanas had been in a relationship with the party's rogue, a halfling named Marli Underbough. When he had unwittingly contracted filth fever in the deserted dwarven stronghold of Khundrukar, Marli had soon come down with it as well. As the cleric, Serinna Pelorim, did not yet have the power to cure disease, the group had traveled to the nearby town of Brindinford to seek healing from Serinna's fellow clerics. Unfortunately, the clergy had just been exiled by the ruler of the town, who was in thrall to a powerful mind flayer. On top of that, the mind flayer had also inspired a cult of fanatical sorcerers-- Those Who Heard--who had kidnapped a local paladin, the only other person who could heal them. Jonathanas and co. found out that their headquarters was in a bookshop called the Reality Wrinkle, and decided to pay them a visit.

In the shop, the entire party was weakened by the unnatural power infusing the building--except for Jonathanas. Eventually, they fought and defeated the cult's leader, a sorceress known as the Blessed. With her defeat, the alien energies vanished from the shop.

Then, the black pentagram tattooed on the back of Jonathanas' left hand began to glow, and projected an image of a gray-skinned, elven being--a LeShay. The fey creature identified himself as Jonathanas' great-grandfather, Alion Darkstar, and revealed to him his true heritage--the Darkstar family carried the blood of the First Elves.

Countless eons ago, the primordial elven race known as the LeShay ruled over most of Oerth. Their wizardry had reached a pinnacle of power that had never been duplicated by any modern race. But the quest for even more magical power led the LeShay into a place where no mortal had any business going:  
The Far Realm.  
A conclave of LeShay planewalkers constructed a tremendous portal to the Far Realm, using magical power beyond the scope of mortal comprehension.  
Within moments, they realized the horrible mistake they had made.  
Hordes of monsters poured through the gate, overwhelming the LeShay in seconds. Monsters continued to issue forth from the gate faster than the LeShay could fight them, and in less than a week, their glorious civilization imploded in bloody terror.  
But finally, mere moments before they were overwhelmed by the hosts of the Far Realm, the last dozen LeShay left in the universe, led by Alion himself, combined their magical energies in one last apocalyptic spell.  
The awesome power they unleashed tore the LeShay from the fabric of time and space, altering history so that the LeShay had never even existed. The portal to the Far Realm was closed--in fact, it had never been opened--but the LeShay were unable to effect time that way in the Far Realm. The gate on the material plane was closed, but the end in the Far Realm was still open, and waiting for some foolish mage to open the other end.  
Alion Darkstar transported the spot where the portal had stood into a demiplane created by his _Genesis_ spell, and left the Multiverse entirely. To this day, no one knew what had happened to him.

Jonathanas eventually found the demiplane, now grown to infinite size after countless ages, and began gathering allies to him. Over the next few centuries, a small group of former adventurers formed an alliance to protect the portal--the first incarnation of the Darkstar clan.

But this small group was not enough--and when Jonathanas finally fell, the defenders of the portal fell apart. Milo Darkstar, the son of Jonathanas and Marli, founded the city of Alianost a mile from the cavern complex housing the gate to the Far Realm. When he died, his son, Seshas, inherited the town. For nearly nine thousand years, the portal lay unguarded--only sheer luck kept some fool from finding and opening it.

Then, during the reign of Alein, grandson of Seshas, a mind flayer named Yarrick Zan came to Alianost. He murdered Alein and his wife, and nearly killed their eldest son, Jonathanas II. The young heir to the Darkstar legacy was banished from Alianost by the new ruler, and became a wanderer like his namesake. Rishanos, the younger of the Darkstar children, was sold to a band of drow, who eagerly spirited the boy away to their city beneath the Crystalmist Mountains.

Jonathanas took to adventuring well, and soon achieved a moderate level of power--finally allowing him to divine the fate of Rishanos. He learned that the boy was a servant in the house of Illivarra, the drow high priestess.

Using his magic to disguise himself as a dark elf, Jonathanas infiltrated the city and insinuated himself into Illivarra's household. There, he became acquainted with a young priestess named Irrintha, and conspired to capture her and exchange her for Rishanos.

He lured her into an unused hallway, and was about to subdue her with a _hold person_ spell when she tripped him and put a sword to his throat.

Then, Irrintha's form melted away, revealing a lovely, red-haired surface elf.

Jonathanas quickly dispelled his own disguise and explained his reasons for being there. The maiden named herself as Roselenna Embermane, and admitted to having an identical plan for him--she had come seeking her own parents, who were likewise held captive by the drow. Together, the two defeated Illivarra's elite guards, rescued their respective relations, and fled the city.

Jonathanas and Roselenna decided that they worked well together, and agreed to join forces as an adventuring team. Eventually, their friendly relationship became much more, and by the time they returned to Alianost to take revenge on Yarrick, they were set on marriage.

While Jonathanas had been gone, however, Yarrick had turned the city from a bustling planar commerce center into a horrific dictatorship. A sect of fanatical cultists, the Alienists, ran the city for Yarrick, who they worshipped as a God--and Yarrick himself was attempting to open the portal.

Jonathanas and Roselenna easily defeated the cultists, but Yarrick was another matter--a lethal assassin and powerful psion, the illithid was the single most powerful foe either of them had ever faced. Finally, though, the pair triumphed, and announced their engagement on the steps of Jonathanas's ancestral home.

It was at this point that Alion appeared to them.

The progenitor of the Darkstar family blessed their union, and revealed the location of the caverns to Jonathanas. He charged them with restoring the Darkstar line to power, and preventing the portal to the Far Realm from being opened.

This was easier said than done--Yarrick's vast cabal of mad worshippers had vowed to carry on what their God-thing had started, and the casualties that the Darkstars had inflicted only deepened their hatred of the couple. Calling all the beings they had befriended over the years to Alianost, Jonathanas explained the situation to them, and asked for their assistance.

Every single creature agreed.

Soon, the Darkstar clan had claimed the caverns as a permanent headquarters, sealed it with the most powerful spells available, and named Jonathanas as their Patriarch. The clan grew rapidly, drawing in new members from anywhere that life existed, until they counted in the millions.

Over the next thousand years, the Darkstar clan grew into a vast network of operatives that spread across reality, and was capable of instantly reacting to any Alienist movement--but most only knew them as defenders of the common folk, like any of a number of Good organizations. Jonathanas, Roselenna, and their son Tanthas became legends, and were known as the three most powerful beings in the multiverse.

Then Bonedevil came.

The lone survivor of a hobgoblin tribe that Jonathanas and Roselenna had wiped out in their early adventuring careers, the being known as Bonedevil had appeared out of nowhere and begun murdering anyone remotely connected with Jonathanas. He possessed power beyond anything the clan had yet encountered, and nearly slaughtered the whole clan in their first confrontation. Death was not normally a problem when most of the clan's clerics had easy access to _True Resurrection_ spells--but Bonedevil wielded a deadly weapon, a soul-eating sword called Blackrazor, that claimed the lives of a dozen clan members. Eventually, the hobgoblin tricked Jonathanas into leaving the demiplane, broke in using never-before-seen magic, and murdered Roselenna and Tanthas.

Jonathanas oversaw the mass resurrection of the deceased clan members, then vanished. In his absence, Rishas was named Patriarch. Several weeks later, Jonathanas reappeared at Roselenna's funeral, covered in blood. The Patriarch then vanished once more, taking Roselenna's body with him--and no one had ever seen him or Bonedevil again.

With the Darkstar clan reeling from the loss of its leader, a number of Evil societies decided to strike--a big mistake. Marinda Darkstar, widow of Tanthas, personally toppled the entire Scarlet Brotherhood, and the demigod Iuz fell to the demon lord Rhunad, who stole his divine spark and became the God of Pain. With two incredibly powerful Evil forces removed by members of the Darkstar clan, their damaged reputation rocketed to unheard-of levels.

Unfortunately, the Alienists did not give up--and in 6837 CY, they revealed the secret of the Darkstar clan to the multiverse.

Rather than being outraged at the clan's deception, as the Alienists had hoped, the public embraced the truth happily, and helped the clan wipe out all remnants of the Alienist faction. A small group turned up every decade or so, but for all practical purposes, the Alienists were no more--and reality was finally safe from the horrors of the Far Realm.

Just recently, however, Rishas had been feeling uneasy around the portal--he felt a strange presence on the other side, trying to break through. The Alienists had often tried to open the portal remotely, but never in the seven thousand year history of the Darkstar clan had anything tried to open it from the Far Realm. Nobody knew how effective this tactic could prove--only a few people had even seen the other end, and fewer still had returned with their minds intact.

Rishas shuddered at the idea of a Far Realm monster opening the portal--he had seen many such creatures, from pseudonatural imitations of normal beasts to vast, tentacled behemoths that spanned entire layers of the place, and any one of them could snap a normal person's mind like a twig.

Well, if it happened, it happened--all he could do was hope. 


	5. The Other Side

**The Other Side**

No sane mortal would ever enter the vast madness of the Far Realm--but if someone did dare to venture into the world beyond worlds, he would see a vast, shifting void, filled with strange and obscene creatures and objects.

As this impossible traveler floats in the emptiness beyond reality, he finds that he can propel himself through the void simply by willing it. He moves slowly through the otherworldly vapors, guided by instincts he does not know he possesses.

Freakish, tentacled beasts flow beside him, extending limbs and orifices to probe and taste this new intruder. As they attempt to investigate, they also seek to interrogate. _What are you?_ they wonder. _Who are you, who enters freely into the True World? What strange magic insulates you from the Truth of your existence?_

Our hypothetical planewalker does not hear their sibilant whispers--he cannot, for he is not of their world. Eventually, the alien beings tire of their inquiries, and drift away into the ether. The traveler wanders on, eventually shifting to a lower layer of the plane.

Here, vast firestorms rage across a burning hellscape, and the traveler is forced to take shelter in a cave for several hours.

After the pillars of flame have left the area, the traveler is all too happy to move down to another layer--a lake of slime filled with severed humanoid heads. He quickly moves on, passing into another ethereal void--or is it the same place? The traveler has lost track of his starting point. With a shrug, he continues on--he can surely find this place again, after all.

The next layer is literally alive. The traveler floats through huge, pulsating arteries, searching for a portal to the layer below it. He finally finds one in what appears to be an anal sphincter more than three miles in diameter. He hardly even notices--it all seems perfectly normal.

Passing through, he finds himself in a huge stone cavern. It's the same one that he sheltered in during the firestorm. He doesn't care--he just wants to get out.

Three layers later, the traveler is lost. He stands before a statue of an enormous, squid-headed god, fighting the urge to fall down and worship the thing. The tentacled idol pays him no heed, and the traveler moves on, gnawing on a severed arm he found earlier.

The next layer is another--or possibly the same--void. A rain of rubbery blue globes fall from somewhere above, and burst, releasing enormous ticks that scuttle off in search of blood. One advances on the traveler, who wisely makes a run for it, dashing through a portal just before the thing reaches him.

He comes out on a huge spider web, suspended over a sea of writhing vermin. He attempts to climb across, but it is difficult without his left arm. Eventually, he reaches the other side, and passes through another portal.

The traveler has given up. He stands at the foot of a huge cross. Fastened to it is a metal effigy of a gaunt humanoid in tattered yellow robes. He falls to his knees, weeping. The yellow-robed figure descends from the cross and wipes the tears from his face.

He wanders, lost in madness, for countless centuries, the alien energies of the Far Realm sustaining him, staving off the death he now desires above all else. With each passing moment, the memory of his former existence grows dimmer and dimmer. He knows, without knowing why he knows, that when he forgets all that came before, he will finally find the rest he craves--but that knowledge alone is enough to preserve his past.

Finally, after thousands of years, the traveler--or rather, he who was such--comes to a new portal. He does not realize this, for he has long forgotten whence he came, and he enters.

He finds himself in the same whirling madness as ever--but something is different now. The otherworldly winds swirl about him, buffeting him fiercely--but above the susurrus of alien whispers, he hears a new noise: music.

A faint, plaintive tune reaches his ears, penetrating the haze of madness and piercing him to his very soul. It's the sound of a flute, and it is the most beautiful sound the traveler has ever heard.

He follows the sound of the flute, floating through endless abysses of time and space, until he sees something in the distance. It seems small, but as he comes closer, he realizes that it is truly enormous--a vast, amorphous blob thousands of miles in diameter. The surface of the… _thing_ roils and churns with nauseous vitality, and the traveler is overcome--not by fear, nor disgust, nor even awe--but with pure, unadulterated joy. He slowly approaches the blasphemous mass, exultant in the end he knows awaits him.

The monster parts its gelatinous walls, allowing the traveler access. He gladly enters, floating down mile upon mile of twisting corridor, following the sound of the flute.

Hours pass, then days. Finally, after more than a week, the weary traveler finds what he seeks.

He steps out of the slime-walled corridor into a small chamber--somehow, he knows this to be the very center of the monster.

In the center of the chamber sits a lone elf. His pure white hair cascades down his slender shoulders, coming almost to his waist. Tattered robes shroud his body, stained with blood and torn almost to ribbons by countless jagged cuts.

And in his hands he holds a flute.

The traveler falls to his knees, weeping in joy.

The elf stops playing and turns his own tear-streaked face to the human.

"Welcome," he murmurs, "to the heart of the madness."

And as the traveler finally sinks into the squalid tissues of Azathoth, the last thing he sees are the elf's black, empty eyes.

A universe away, Rishas woke from his slumber with a scream.

Soaked in sweat and wearing only his trousers, the Patriarch looked around his room, scanning every shadow for an unknown danger. Finding nothing only made fear grip his heart all the more tightly.

What was it? What had caused him to sleep so fitfully, and to wake so violently? Rishas wracked his memory for some indicator of what he had dreamed--again, nothing. His dreams had long since fled his mind--but the lurking sense of doom remained.

Suddenly, a searing pain flashed up his left arm, jolting the still-drowsy elf into full wakefulness. Rishas looked down at his hand, and gasped.

His mark was on fire.

The golden pentagram marking his status as Patriarch of the Darkstar Clan glowed red in the night, sending crackling arcs of lightning up and down his arm. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Rishas focused his will and cast a dispelling enchantment on his hand. The mark dulled, its magic temporarily suppressed, allowing the bard to grab for the bundle of adventuring gear at his bedside. Rummaging through a bundle of scrolls, he found his emergency trump card--a scroll of _disjunction_ that he kept to deal with extremely powerful magic. Though he was unable to cast the spell himself, Rishas could mimic the words and gestures required to activate a magic scroll--he did so now, muttering under his breath and tracing an intricate pattern in the air with his fingers. The spell flared to life, enveloping him in a dull gray shroud of antimagic. Rishas shuddered as all of his defensive spells vanished, leaving him weakened and vulnerable--still, it was a low price to pay to be rid of the mark.

Unfortunately, he wasn't rid of it--the mark flared up again, the spell suppressing it also disjoined. Pain wracked his entire body, and for a split second, Rishas contemplated severing his hand to end the agony--then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped.

Rishas stared at his hand, the shock of being attacked by his own mark paling before the horror of its latest transformation.

The mark had gone black, like that of any other Darkstar operative. The title of Patriarch, supposedly a lifelong appointment, had been stripped from him. 


	6. The End

**The End**

Rishas spent the rest of the night walking aimlessly through the demiplane, jumping at shadows and hurling minor offensive spells at unusually shaped rocks. Finally falling asleep just before sunrise, his clansmen found their Patriarch slumped over his great-uncle's seat at the great table in the council chamber.

After the legendary Jonathanas vanished, his great-nephew had been named Patriarch--but the younger elf had never claimed his predecessor's seat, instead taking the title of Interim Patriarch and retaining his old seat, the second to the left of Jonathanas. After nearly a century, he had accepted that Jonathanas was never coming back, and finally claimed the title of Patriarch--but he still refused to take the elder Darkstar's seat.

Now Rishas knelt at the base of this very seat, his hands gripping the armrests so hard that they would have shattered any natural stone, his eyes closed as if in prayer.

Rishas was awakened by someone shaking him. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he looked up at the smiling face of a middle-aged human--one he knew very well.

Absent for the past month on personal business, Camber SeMeroc was the strongest warrior in clan Darkstar--quite possibly the most powerful being in the multiverse. About six feet tall, he still possessed much if his youthful energy--and what little he had lost, he made up for with his incredible grasp of tactics. The past three centuries had not had much effect on his looks, either--his mane of shaggy black hair was only just beginning to gray, and his round, strangely expressive face was as fair as ever despite his scars.

Oh, and he had a tail--an odd thing, to be sure, but in a clan that counted at least one of every known sentient race, Camber's extra appendage was hardly worth staring at.

"Sleepwalking again, Rishas?" Camber grinned affectionately, extending a hand emblazoned with the black tattoo worn by all members of the clan.

"Welcome back, Camber!" Rishas gave a wan smile of his own, and allowed his old friend to help him up. "How was your trip?"

It was then that he saw the rest of the home branch gathered around them.

"Uh…" For the first time in many years, Rishas couldn't find the right words. "Don't… most of you… have jobs to do?"

The clan stared for a few more moments, and slowly began to disperse, whispering to each other.

When the last person had left, Camber turned back to Rishas. "Now, what in all the worlds is wrong with you?"

"I wish I knew." Rishas staggered to his own chair and flopped across the armrests. "I woke up last night from--well, I don't even know what it was! A nightmare of some sort, perhaps--I can't remember anything about it, but…"

"Well, whatever it was, it's over." Camber walked over to Rishas, kneeling to level his gaze with his troubled Patriarch. "It's all right--you're safe."

He leaned in, and kissed Rishas on the lips.

The elf gladly returned the kiss, embracing his mate, silently asking for more--but Camber broke off, much to his disappointment.

"Not now, love," purred the human. "You still have quite a bit of work to do."

Rishas levered himself out of his seat, shooting a pouting glace Camber's way. "Later, then?"

"Gladly." Camber gave a wink, and walked out of the room, his tail weaving in the air.

Rishas sighed, and walked down the opposite hall.

The elf had first met Camber SeMeroc almost three hundred years ago--despite his appearance, the human was in fact less than a tenth Rishas's age. Camber had been incredibly powerful even then--as a matter of fact, the young martial artist had beaten his future lover to a pulp the first time they'd met.

Discovered on the isle of Lantan as a child, Camber had been raised by a village of gnomes, who viewed the odd little boy as an experiment in developmental psychology.

Camber had been a well-adjusted child, and the fact that he possessed a tail was of little concern to his adoptive parents--until they extended his curfew to 8:30 pm.

Now, Camber was a well-behaved little boy, but evidently staying up late had not agreed with him, as he promptly turned into a giant ape and leveled the island. He would most likely have done the same to the rest of Faerun, had a local mage not blinded him by creating a globe of darkness about his head. Camber had instantly returned to his normal shape--a reaction that cemented the mage's theory about the boy's nature.

Camber, it seemed, was some manner of lycanthrope--most likely from another plane of existence altogether. Like all his kind, the light of the full moon seemed to trigger his transformation, so the only thing for it was to keep him indoors until he could rein in the volatile ape form.

After an extended stay with the monastic order of the Sun Soul, Camber learned to control his transformation, and to harness his internal energies--but where his fellow monks used meditation and discipline to access their spirit energy, or _ki_, Camber reached deep inside himself and used his emotions to unlock a new power: _chi_, the energy of the body.

Over a long adventuring career, Camber learned to use this power in ways no monk had ever dreamed of--hurling bolts of energy at foes, focusing it inward to increase his own strength, and even moving objects with a mere thought. Rishas had met Camber at the conclusion of that career--in the woods near Neverwinter, to be exact. Caught off guard by the appearance of a power almost as great as his own, the younger human had attacked without thought, nearly killing Rishas before he'd been able to explain himself.

The two had become fast friends, almost siblings in fact--but Camber had always seemed to harbor some secret, a skeleton that he couldn't bear to let out of the closet. As quickly as he had bonded with the elf, he had begun to drift away. Finally, Rishas confronted him, demanding an explanation.

And Camber gave it to him.

Even Camber wasn't fully able to explain why he felt the way he did--but it really didn't matter a great deal to Rishas. He had been harboring similar feelings for some time, and it wasn't long before the two publicly announced their love for each other.

Oddly enough, the revelation of their union had little impact on his everyday life. The Darkstar clan was by definition a very tolerant group--the folk who worked side by side with their racial enemies had little trouble accepting those with more mundane differences. Still, a few of the more hard-line (or hard-headed, as Rishas called them) conservatives--most notably a whole unit of gray dwarf soldiers--had left the clan over things like this, and it had been a while before some of the clan became totally comfortable with the idea of a homosexual Patriarch.

Now, though, the whole clan seemed to have adapted--the stares he had been getting for the past year had all but vanished, and the duergar who had abandoned the clan were objects of popular ridicule.

Confirming the thought, a pair of dwarves trotted past him, toting a sign bearing a caricature of a duergar and the words "5:00 PM in the Theater wing: ELF EYE FOR THE DUERGAR GUY--a new comedy starring Rezzo Thardakher and Tarathiel Phiarlan."

Rishas chuckled to himself, and abruptly changed direction, following the dwarves.

The Theater wing of the clan demiplane was as much of a wonder as any other room--it could hold as many people as there were in it at any given time, and always seemed to have some spare seats. Rishas sat down in one of these, and watched the greatest comedians in the multiverse warm up:

Tarathiel Phiarlan, an elven bard from the newly discovered world of Eberron, was in the process of attempting to brighten up a dour duergar, played by his dwarven straight man Rezzo Thardakher.

"Now, take this gray jacket of yours--far away, please--just kidding, seriously we need to get you into something brighter," Tarathiel pattered--hardly even pausing between words--as he paced around the frowning "duergar." "How about something in pink? No, probably not--oh, I know, a nice evening gown!"

Rezzo hefted his pickaxe and grunted.

"No, I thought not..." Tarathiel pursed his lips thoughtfully. A trio of kender trotted across the stage carrying a banner: "FOR THE THIRD TIME, THE CHARACTERS PORTRAYED ON THIS STAGE ARE IN NO WAY REPRESENTATIVE OF THEIR SPECIES, NOR ARE THE OPINIONS EXPRESSED HERE NECESSARILY THOSE OF THE DARKSTAR CLAN."

"He's certainly on a roll today," Camber mused, sitting down beside Rishas.

"I can't argue there," Rishas agreed, "but I'm wondering if the kender are enough--we really can't afford to lose allies, and if this little piece leaks onto the Material plane, the duergar might never come back."

"Ah, who needs 'em?" Camber created a small sphere of energy and balanced in on one fingertip. "We haven't had any real problems since before I was born--and besides, even if there was anyone left who could fight like that Bonedevil fellow, they still wouldn't be able to handle _us!_"

"True." Rishas finally grinned, leaning back in his seat. "Now, aren't we here to watch the show?"

On the stage, Rezzo had finally tired of Tarathiel's antics, and was now chasing the elf around the stage with his pickaxe, roaring dire threats as he did.

"I'm gonna hack your skinny--"

The stocky dwarf stopped suddenly. Tarathiel made half a circle around the stage before skidding to a halt, perplexed at his comrade's pause. "What's the matter, Rez? Forget your lines? Remember, you were gonna hack my arms off and shove 'em up--"

Rezzo didn't reply--he just stood there, utterly motionless. Finally, his arms slumped to his sides, and his pickaxe clanged to the floor.  
Then he exploded.

The dwarf flew apart in a shower of gore, splattering the entire stage with blood. Tarathiel scrambled for the exit, Rishas instinctively drew his sword, and Camber formed a gigantic energy blast in his right hand.

Where Rezzo had stood moments before, a dark mass lay on the floor. As Rishas watched in horror, it began to unfold into a humanoid figure.

Black armor laced with bone gleamed in the spotlights, obscuring the man's face in shadow. Fiery red eyes glowed out of the black silhouette, burning their way into Rishas' very soul.

The blood-slicked horror stood, and removed its helm. The face was that of a hobgoblin--but there was something else to it, some demonic cast to his features that made Rishas shiver with dread.

A rasping voice echoed through the theater like the last breath of a dying man: "Darkstar."

Rishas stood, reaching for one of the scrolls in his belt. "I am Rishas Darkstar, Patriarch of the Darkstar clan. You have attacked one of our number, and are therefore our enemy--I ask that you surrender now, before we are forced to attack."

The figure gave a mocking bow. "Oh, forgive me--I was under the impression that this was the home of _Jonathanas_ Darkstar. Can you direct me to his current residence?"

"Jonathanas Darkstar vanished more than a thousand years ago--I am his great-nephew, and _you_ must have been living in a cave for the past millennium."

"Actually, that's mostly correct," the hobgoblin laughed. "I spent the last thousand years as an impotent shade within the Wall of Black Glass. Only the foolish ambitions of a Derro miner allowed me to return to my full power--for you see, Jonathanas Darkstar killed me more than a thousand years ago."

Rishas grew pale, dreading the revelation he knew was coming. "Who… no, _what_ in the Abyss are you?"

"You may have heard of me--the name is Bonedevil."

With that, the legendary terror flew at Rishas, the sword Blackrazor aimed straight at his heart.

But just as the deadly blade came within inches of the Patriarch, it stopped. Camber's muscles bulged as he held the soul-eating blade between two fingers, slowly levering it away from his mate. "Nobody hurts my Rishas," he growled.

Bonedevil stepped back a few feet, taken off-guard as much by the human's statement as his strength. "Well, it looks like the clan's warriors have gotten stronger in my absence--but then, so have I!"

The monstrous being grabbed Camber by the neck, lifted him into the air, and hurled him against the theater wall. "Now," he continued, "I can already see that I could destroy all of you without any real effort--but you're the only ones who can contact Jonathanas for me."

Rishas dashed forward, invoking the scroll and cutting Bonedevil off from his mate with a wall of magical force. "I already told you, Patriarch Jonathanas is _gone_!"

"Perhaps--but no matter where he is, that weak-hearted fool could never stand to see innocent creatures suffer." Bonedevil grinned wickedly. "In a few months, you will begin hearing reports of my deeds. If you are hiding your precious leader from me, he will have no choice but to come and fight me--and if he truly is gone, then there will be no one left to stop me…" He trailed off, trusting Rishas and Camber to grasp the implications of his words.

"Wrong, tinhead," Camber spat. "There's a whole clan of heroes who can stop you. We've still got active members who saw you fight firsthand--and a lot of us have become stronger than you ever were!"

"And are you one of them?" Bonedevil sneered.

"As a matter of fact, I am--you haven't seen a fraction of my power yet."

Bonedevil's grin broadened. "I'm sure you've got a few tricks up your sleeve--but I must say, you haven't shown much in the way of combat prowess…"

Camber rolled his eyes. "Why is it that everyone I've fought the past few months has said that right before they die?"

"I think you'll find me a bit more dangerous than your previous foes…" Without warning, Bonedevil exploded into action--stepping between dimensions with a word, the hobgoblin materialized on the other side of the room, his blade already speeding toward Camber's neck. Camber ducked the blow, then flipped backwards and slammed his foot into Bonedevil's chin, sending him flying onto the stage. His armored bulk crashed through the wooden floor, and Rishas heard a loud clang as the hobgoblin hit the stone floor. Moments later, an explosion of magical force ripped the stage apart, showering Camber with wood chips and sawdust. Taking advantage of his opponent's momentary distraction, Bonedevil slid through space-time again, this time reappearing behind Camber with Blackrazor held two-handed above the monk's head. Rishas activated a talisman on his belt, and a fist of the same magical substance as the wall he had previously created shot toward his mate, knocking him away just as the deadly stroke fell. The fist then opened, and reached for Bonedevil with fingers of impermeable force.

Bonedevil made no attempt to evade the _crushing hand_--in fact, he grabbed the magical construct in a bear-hug of his own. For a moment, Rishas wondered if the demented battlemage's ego had betrayed him--then he gaped in horror as Bonedevil crushed the spell with his bare hands. Shards of force flew in all directions as the hand splintered under his brute strength, and the mangled limb dissipated into nothingness. Bonedevil straightened up, and turned to face Rishas with a pale green sphere glowing in his hand. He spoke a word of command, and the sphere shot toward Rishas, elongating into a bolt of pure destructive energy. It spattered against the elf's shielding, and Rishas retaliated with a similar spell from one of his scrolls. The _disintegrate_ ray was empowered with an extra dose of magical power, and Rishas was confident that Bonedevil's wards would be unable to withstand the massive damage it would inflict.

The bolt never hit--Bonedevil swung Blackrazor in an arc that reflected the green ray back at Rishas. The elf tried to dodge, but he knew it was hopeless. His own defenses buckled, then collapsed, barely slowing the deadly spell as it bored through his abdomen. Rishas tried to block out the pain, filling his mind with arcane formulae. _The _disintegrate _spell kills through the explosive conversion of matter into energy, causing massive tissue disruption and--_

His final thought before death claimed him was one of relief. _Well, at least this way I can still be resurrected…_

Bonedevil spat into the pile of ashes that had once been Rishas. "So much for your boy-toy, little ape--now, shall we continue this on a more level playing field?"

"That was foolish of you," Camber smirked. "Death is just an inconvenience for a Darkstar, remember?"

"Oh, how could I forget?" Bonedevil swung Blackrazor in a figure-eight, leaving a trail of dark flame where the blade had passed. "That was why I made this weapon, after all…" His face suddenly lost its confident smirk, twisting into a maddened snarl of pure hatred. "_To consign every last one of you wretched murderers to eternal nothingness!_" He lunged at Camber, howling in rage. "First I'll destroy you, then the Darkstar clan, then the entire universe!"

Camber tried to block the hobgoblin's strikes with his left forearm, but Bonedevil's berserker strength nearly severed his hand. His voice, slowly rising throughout his frenzied assault, reached a crescendo of pain and insanity. "And when I'm the only one left, I'll turn Blackrazor on myself--_and I'll never have to see her face again!_"

"Whose face?" Camber screamed at him. "What did we do to deserve this?"

"_You miserable bastards!_" Bonedevil gave a horrible, wailing shriek and hurled himself forward again, lashing out frantically with Blackrazor. "I can see her blood staining your filthy hands! Her life bled out into the soil as you put our home to the torch! Our families to the sword!" He blocked Camber's counterattack with his own spiked gauntlet, tearing ragged holes in the monk's right hand. "You killed her--you and every other Darkstar who ever lived! I'll avenge her, I swear it on Blackrazor's hilt--_I'll kill you all!_"

Trying unsuccessfully to block out Bonedevil's ravings, Camber was caught off guard when the hobgoblin abruptly lunged forward, smashing through his one-handed defense. An armored fist crashed into his sternum, knocking him off-balance and cracking several ribs. Blackrazor flashed, and Camber's tunic was torn from shoulder to waist. A curtain of blood spurted from the flesh beneath, and Bonedevil crowed in triumph. "_Blood for blood, you murdering ape!"_

Ignoring his massive wounds, Camber formed a small sphere of _chi_ in his left hand--as Bonedevil moved in for another attack, he hurled the sphere into the hobgoblin's face. Bonedevil staggered back, his vision obstructed by the blinding light, and Camber launched into a series of spinning aerial kicks that sent his opponent sprawling. Before Bonedevil could get to his feet, Camber fired another, more powerful shot into his back, driving him deep into the floor and demolishing the entire theater.

When the smoke cleared, Bonedevil lay at the bottom of a humongous, smoking crater. His limbs lay at unnatural angles, and for a moment Camber entertained the notion that he was dead--then he heard a sickening crack, and the hobgoblin's twisted right arm snapped into place. He watched in horror as Bonedevil slowly levered himself up on bent and broken legs, which cracked and popped as they reset. His lolling head swung back into position, and flashed a crazy grin at the dumbstruck warrior.

"A commendable effort, little monkey, but you forgot about my favorite toy." He twirled Blackrazor in front of him, supremely confident and apparently nonplussed by the beating he had just endured. "This blade spent the last thousand years drawing power from the molten heart of the planet itself. A few broken bones are nothing to Blackrazor--you could kill me ten thousand times over, and each time it would rejuvenate me completely!"

"Wonderful… Guess I'll just kill you ten thousand and one times," Camber gasped. It was a poor bluff, and they both knew it--even if his wounds stopped bleeding before they killed him, Camber's arms were nearly useless.

"Normally I'd be happy to oblige your death wish," Bonedevil responded, removing the gauntlet from his living right hand, "but I've already wasted too much time playing with you." His outline blurred, and suddenly he was standing in front of Camber, his open palm pressed against the monk's wounded chest. "I must take my leave for now--pardon me for using your blood as a portal, but it is the easiest way out of this place." And with that, Bonedevil's body liquefied, flowing into the gaping cut. For a moment, Camber's heart stopped, unable to manage the pressure of two bodies' worth of blood. Then, as quickly as it had entered him, the blood of Bonedevil vanished.

Camber fell to his knees, gasping for breath. After a moment, he dragged himself to his feet and staggered to the theater's main exit. Pressing his hand into an alcove in the doorframe, he activated the room's permanent _alarm_ spell, sending a mental distress signal to the clan's security hub. Then, his energy spent, he collapsed on the floor.

On any other day, that would have been all he needed to do. On any other day, an alarm sounding in the nearly-impermeable demiplane complex would cause a dozen of the most powerful beings in the multiverse to descend on the source, fully equipped and ready to render any assistance they could--but today was different.

Today, Camber's summons went unnoticed; the security force was busy fighting for their own lives. Today, the battle that had demolished the entire theater didn't even register as a disturbance; the rest of the demiplane was shaking even harder.

Because while Camber had been struggling against a resurrected Bonedevil, something even more horrible had emerged from the very heart of the demiplane--a raving horde of tentacled monstrosities that advanced through the entire cavern complex, butchering everyone in their path. Those who stood against them were slaughtered--if they were lucky. The unlucky ones joined the tide of unspeakable horror, their minds shredded by the unimaginable truth behind these creatures:

The seal over the Far Ream was broken.

The ultimate sacrifice made by Alion Darkstar had been invalidated.

The combined efforts of six millennia of Darkstars had all been for nothing.

The cosmology-spanning organization that had endured in some form since before the word _history_ had meaning was falling apart around them.

The world… the universe… the multiverse… reality itself…was over.

---

No, you're not imagining this. Rishas and Camber are gay--and Camber, unbeknownst to himself, is a Saiyan. I created him shortly before the in-game events of this fic, using a custom-built class and race. Yes, this is only .000000001 of his true power. Nrgrngrngnrngnrngnrgngnrngrngnrng.

Disclaimer addendum: The Saiyan species, and the planet Vegeta, are from the manga _Dragonball Z_, and are thus ©1995 by Akira Toriyama and Shueisha Animation.


	7. Feelings of Doom

**Feelings of Doom**

Camber awoke to an oddly familiar view: his mate kneeling over him, an expression of concern etched on his face. As powerful as he was, Camber had nonetheless awakened to this look at least a dozen times--even when resurrection was as common as a _cure_ spell among the Darkstar clan, it was always mildly distressing to see a loved one's dead body.

"I died again, didn't I?"

Rishas's face darkened. "That you did, love--along with half the clan."

_"What?"_ Camber bolted upright. "But Bonedevil left--"

"Bonedevil is the least of our worries now…"

And Camber saw everything he needed to know in his lover's eyes--shock, confusion, and pure, unadulterated fear.

"It didn't--it couldn't have--"

"It has." Rishas began to tremble, and a single tear ran down his cheek. "We've failed, Camber. The portal has been opened, and the Far Realm has manifested within the complex. We've sealed off the caves, but if they could break open Alion's seal, our own magic will be nearly useless--and once they escape into Alianost…" Rishas couldn't continue, but Camber understood perfectly. If the hosts of the Far Realm were to reach Alianost, and gain access to the vast portal complex that allowed trade from all corners of reality, they would overrun the multiverse within hours.

Rishas punched the earth, sending a fountain of mud into the air. "Dammit, this is all my fault! If I'd just used my music to support you, instead of fooling around with those stupid scrolls…"

"Even that wouldn't have made a difference. We could have dropped a planet on Bonedevil, and it wouldn't have mattered. We could have animated a planet, transmuted it into solid adamantine, and thrown it at him with me _on_ it, and he'd still regenerate."

"Interesting mental images." Rishas grinned, then began to laugh quietly.

Camber scowled. "How can you make jokes when the universe is ending?"

Rishas looked Camber straight in the eye, and the monk saw tears running down the bard's smiling face. "'Cause if I don't laugh, I'll start screaming, and I don't know if I'll ever stop."

For a long time, they sat in front of the sealed cave, saying nothing. Rain began to fall, lightly at first, then a downpour. The rest of the clan slowly dispersed, either fleeing the inevitable onslaught or locking down the rest of the demiplane. _Really, they're just prolonging their suffering,_ Camber thought. _They can't get to all the portals in time…_

Camber turned to Rishas. "You know," he said, "I did make you a promise this morning."

Rishas smiled. "And you never were one to break a promise."

And as they embraced, for what might be the last time, the same thing passed through their thoughts--the vow they'd both made on the day they pledged their lives to one another:

_If my voice might praise you, I raise it freely, for without you I am mute. _

_If my arms might aid you, I lift them freely, for without you they are empty. _

_If my life might save yours, I give it freely, for without you it is meaningless. _

_You are my life, my only, my morning and evening star. I am your protector, your servant, your eternal companion. I devote myself to you, now and forever. _

_And though reality itself should be rent asunder, our bond shall be unbroken. _

"Do you think we should leave, too?"

Rishas extracted himself from Camber's arms with a sad smile. "Do you think it really matters?"

"I do." Camber sat up, trying to wipe some of the mud off his chest. "Maybe you're right about the end of everything, but I know I'll feel better if I'm doing something about it--sitting around and waiting to die just isn't me."

Rishas stared up at the sky. "You know this isn't just another apocalypse, right? It's the real thing--the one we can't stop, the one we can't survive."

Camber pulled his loincloth on, and reached across Rishas' naked form to grab his trousers. "I know it--and I still can't just give up. If anything, the idea makes me want to try even more."

"You're insatiable, love."

"You ought to know."

"Heh." Rishas grinned slightly. "I suppose if I can't dissuade you, I have no choice but to accompany you--I can't let you die alone, now can I?"

Camber tied the sash that secured his trousers, and flashed Rishas the same gleeful smile he'd worn hundreds of years ago, when he had first challenged Rishas to a duel in the forests of Neverwinter. "At least we can have a little fun before we go."

"Ah, before we charge off to our deaths, perhaps we should finish dressing?"

"Point taken." Camber slipped into his tunic, tucking the hem into his sash. "So… any strategy here, or are we just running in and blasting them apart?"

Rishas smirked. "No, this time I'll be on the sidelines, using my music--and I expect you to keep those things away from me long enough to make a difference."

"Count on it." Camber handed Rishas his neatly folded clothing with a wry laugh. "And by the way, love… have I ever told you you're too tidy?"

"You can never be _too_ tidy," huffed Rishas as he slid his pants on.

"You can if you pride yourself on defying stereotypes," Camber replied. "And you're turning into the prissiest, flaming-est elf bard this side of Arborea."

Rishas grinned. "Point taken."

---

Fanservice patrol, away!


End file.
